At
this juncture, I shall take the opportunity to clarify that I concur
with Treharne’s arguments and support her cause to maintain the
integrity of manuscripts. However
these posts have
sparked an alternate line of inquiry for
me, which I deem
should be examined with regard to the fact that manuscripts are
currently, and have been at certain points in history, altered or
completely deconstructed for one reason or another. Hence, I posit
that we as academics consider
what new meaning, if any, the disseminated part of a manuscript
embodies vis-à-vis
its meaning in book form.

Let
us consider a hypothetical example of a folio removed from a medieval Turkish
manuscript on the practice of medicine. This illuminated folio, along with many others, is now sold in market
places where tourists and other interested buyers congregate to
purchase a piece of history to transport home. Envision the
manuscript, a bound object comprised of pages that were intentionally
created to fulfill a certain purpose. These pages are filled with
text and image that were once used to impart knowledge to both
established and aspiring physicians, but is now dismantled in order
to be sold to laymen who may or may not be cognisant of the folio’s
original intended purpose. Is it symbolic, insofar that it acts as
representation of a unit of meaning for the new owner’s life
experiences? Do these pages convey a completely new narrative, or are
they now a disjointed aspect of a chronicle that is now lost?
Finally, has the folio lost its ‘bookishness’?

In
keeping with the example of the pages from the Turkish medical
treatise, it may be suggested that in the
possession of a physician, these pages may be a textual and pictorial
embodiment of a vocation that existed long before his lifetime, but
at the same moment speaks of his occupation today. Within this
context, the now disembodied elements of the book are redefined. They
are no longer a manner in which to teach about medicine, but are now
a vehicle that link time and space, insofar that these folios
represent the history of the owner’s occupation through the lens of
another culture at a different point in time. This representation
does not alienate the physician from his place within medicine today,
but instead it intertwines his practice with those of the past. This
creates a new narrative for the physician about his own experiences
as a doctor in light of the experiences of the medical practitioners of the past who
now exist within the realm of historical narratives. With this in
mind, the folios may then symbolise medical practice and perpetuate
the concept of a time continuum of occupational community for the new
owner.

The example provided is meant to engender a thought process that considers the potential for new meaning. It cannot speak for each folio from a disassembled
book, and in an alternate scenario, the folio may be further removed from its original intended function, but an ontological change may still occur. Even though the book that once held
these pages together has now lost its primary functionality, its
contents may acquire a new purpose. I will not suggest that this new
purpose is more important than the book’s original intended
function, nor that the act of defiling a book is in anyway
appropriate. I will suggest, however, that a book that has had its
pages removed from its bindings does not indicate its death, but
instead it calls for a reconsideration of the ontological state of
its contents. But, does this mean that the pages themselves have lost
their essence of being part of a book? I would initially suggest that a page that has been physically removed from its original form cannot be stripped of its origins. However, I shall leave this for further
discussion. ~Shandra

Wednesday, 4 December 2013

The Roman Medieval Cosmati works of the tenth to the thirteenth
century may have been an innovation in church ornamentation for the period,
but the material and content presented in the patterns are appropriated from
years past. The Roman craftsmen repurposed ancient stones like porphyry,
serpentine, and Carrera marble from ruined sites, using the stones in the
laying of floors at Christian houses of worship. The patterns in the floors,
though laden with Christian symbolism, were also based upon Classical
philosophies involving the Platonic and Aristotelian elements and the cosmos.
In this post, I will discuss the significance of appropriated
material and concepts in Medieval Cosmati pavements, and then consider the Victorian revival of the Cosmatesque in the United Kingdom.

The spolia used in Medieval Roman pavements were not transported from afar-- the stones were taken from ruinedClassical sites. For the
Classical construction to be possible, the stones travelled a great distance,
including porphyry from modern-day Egypt. Egyptian porphyry was
used in pagan houses of worship,and later re-purposed in
locations like Santi Quattro Coronati (4th century pagan origins, 6th
century Christian conversion, 12th century completion), and at the
height of Cosmati creation, moved as far away as London in the laying of the
Westminster pavement (13th century completion).[1] Serpentine
is found mostly in mainland Greece, linking the famous baldachin of St. Peter’s the home of Classical philosophy. This transaction of materials makes the interchange
of ideologies more plausible. The following images and analyses serve as examples of exchange of material and cultural goods.

Cosmati Pavement in the San Silvestro Chapel at Santi Quattro Coronati, Rome

St.
Silvestro Chapel at Santi Quattro Coronati (SQC), Rome: SQC is home to two Cosmati pavements: one within the main basilica, the other within the St. Silvestro Chapel. The pavement in the St.
Silvestro Chapel predates that of the main basilica and has a several symbolic
features placed within the spolia stones. The prominent shape in this pattern
is the quincunx (one form surrounded by four so that the four make the corners of a
square). The three here could represent the Trinity, which is alluded to by the
white cross in the quincunx nearest the entrance. The white marble may
represent peace or purity, but perhaps it is more likely that it represents
Christ at the centre of the universe, as suggested by the quincunx at the
Westminster pavement. The abundant use of porphyry is perhaps a reference to
royalty, as in the divine royalty of Christ, or the royalty of Constantine who
is portrayed in the chapel’s famous mosaic.[2]

Westminster Abbey Cosmati Pavement

Westminster
Abbey, London: As mentioned in the SQC analysis, the
quincunx is often thought to be a representation of the universe. This is due
an inscription that once was inset around the Westminster pavement describing
it as “the eternal pattern of the universe.”[3] This
inscription is the only one of its kind, making the Westminster pavement the
only labelled Cosmati work. Scholars like Lindy Grant, Richard Mortimer, and
Richard Foster have greatly elaborated on pattern, but to sum up their studies,
the quincunx represents the four Platonic elements in the exterior orbs, and
the Aristotelian fifth element, aether,
in the centre. These elements were consideredconstants in universe. As science and religion
often overlapped in the Middle Ages, the quincunx and the elements that make up
the universe also had a religious interpretation, one in which God replaced aether and the four elements would be
the four Evangelists. In the case of SQC, perhaps the four arms represent the
Four Crowned Martyrs.

Large quincunx roundel of the Sistine Chapel Cosmati pavement

Sistine Chapel

Sistine
Chapel at St. Peter’s Basilica, Vatican City:
Like the pavements of SQC and Westminster, the Sistine Chapel pavement featuresa
quincunx. The pavement seen here is under Michelangelo’s famous ceiling, but do
note that there is another pavement in the Stanza
della Signatura which features the cross keys of St. Peter. This pavement
is significant as it sits under the image of God creating Adam, which is
consistent with the cosmological reference made by the Westminster inscription. Additionally, the nine rings that make up the roundels of the larger quincunx (seen above) are perhaps another reference to the heavens, particularly the nine levels of Purgatory so famously written about by Dante.This theory needs further
investigation on my part, but considering the nine layers and Dante’s Purgatorio certainly makes an intriguing
query.

Monreale
Cathedral, Sicily: Lastly I would like to examine the
pavement at the Monreale Cathedral in Sicily. Although not part of Rome, Sicily
and Naples were part of the Holy See.[4]
This connection with Rome made for many shared cultural practices, but the
lifestyle in the south was different from that of Rome asSicily was
influenced by Muslim culture until the Normans conquered in 1072, which led to
the structure we see today.[5]
The original worship centre of Monreale was a small church. The
structure as it can be seen today was built by King William II in the early twelfth century
(circa 1174). The Roman quincunx is present at Monreale, but the Islamic muqarna has become the more featured
geometric form. In many eastern cultures, the eight-pointed star represents protection, spiritual
enlightenment, resurrection, rebirth, infinity and abundance.[6] In Islam there are seven
hells and eight paradises, perhaps making the muqarna a symbol of paradise.[7] Christianity uses the number eight in art and design because after the flooding of the world and Noah’s ark, eight
people were saved in this “mass baptism,” thus resulting in eight-sided
baptisteries and churches.[8] As discussed in former posts,
the number 8 is also infinity when turned upon its side.

What can be
concluded from the medieval Cosmati works is that both material and content are
spolia. The same can be said for Victorian adaptation of Cosmati-style
pavements known as the Cosmatesque. One of the most highly-recognized Victorian
Cosmatesque pavements is that of Durham Cathedral. The material of the choir and high altar pavements are
predominately sandstone, but the pattern includes a multitude of geometric forms borrowed from pavements created before its time.
The pavement was laid by Sir Gilbert Scott in 1870 during a renovation of the
cathedral, which also included alterations to the towers, foundation, and
smaller damages to the structure.Cosmati
works have long been a favourite of mine for their intricate patterns and bold
colours, but what is truly incredible is the long history of exchange of
materials, content, and craft of the pavements. The exchange of material is evidence of long-standing economic agreement between a multitude of cultures, but the patterns of the pavement express a cultural exchange. The geometric symbolism is a tradition of religious and scientific understanding passed down from ancient times, to medieval scholars and in turn, craftsman, and later adapted by Victorian patrons in their great refurbishment. The Westminster inscription reveals that the quincunx pattern is best called the "eternal pattern of the universe," but the process of creating these pavements reveals a pattern of cultural exchange.